The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 159: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

CHAPTER XL. SIR RICHARD PRIES INTO TODD’S SECRETS. Crotchet soon reached the attic floor of the shoemaker’s house, and although in profound darkness, he managed, as he thought to touch the right door. Tap! tap! went Crotchet’s knuckles, and as he did so he followed a habit very general, when the knock is only a matter of ceremony, and opened the door at the same moment. He popped his head into a room where there was a light, and said— “Here yer is.” A scream was the reply to him, and then Crotchet saw, by the state of affairs there, that he had made a little mistake in the topography of the attic landing. The attic in which he found himself, for he had crossed the threshold, was in the occupation of an elderly gaunt-looking female, who was comforting her toes by keeping them immersed in a pan of water by the side of a little miserable fire, which was feebly pretending to look cheerful in the little grate. “Lor’, mum!” said Crotchet. “Who’d a thought 0’ seeing of you?” “Oh, you monster. You base man, what do you want here?” “Nothink!” “Be off with you, or else I’Il call the perlice.” “Oh, I’m a-going, mum. How do you bring it in, mum, in a general way?” “Help! Murder!” “Lord bless us, what a racket. Don’t you go for to fancy, mum, that I comed up these here attic stairs for to see you. Quite the rewerse, mum.” “Then, pray who did you come to see, you big ugly monster you? The other attic is empty. Oh, you base infidel. I believe I knows what men are by this time.” “No doubt on it, mum. howsomdever this here’s the wrong door, I take it. No harm done, mum. I wish you and your toes, mum, a remarkably good evening.” “Crotchet,” said a voice. “Here yer is.” Sir Richard Blunt had been attentively listening for Crotchet, and when he heard the screams of the old lady in the next attic, he opened the door of his apartment, and looked out. He soon discovered what was amiss, and called out accordingly. “Bless us, who’s that?” “The Emperor o’ Russia, mum,” said Crotchet. “He’s took that ’ere attic next to you, ’cos he’s heard so much o’ the London chimbley pots,® and he wants to have a good look at them at his leisure.” With these words Mr. Crotchet left the old lady’s attic, and closed the door carefully, leaving her, no doubt, in a considerable state of bewilderment. In another moment he was with the magistrate. “Down as a hammer, sir.” “T think it is anything but down.” “Right as a trivet,* sir, with a hextra leg. Lots o’ fear, but no danger. Now for it, Sir Richard. What lay is we to go on?” It certainly never occurred to Sir Richard Blunt to hold any argument with Mr. Crotchet. He had long since found out that he must, if he would avail himself of his services—and for courage and fidelity he was unequalled—put up with his eccentricities; so upon this occasion he said no more about Crotchet’s mistake, but, after a few moments’ pause, pointing to the attic door, he said— “Secure it.” “All’s right.” Crotchet took a curious little iron instrument from his pocket, and secured it into the wall by the side of the door. It did not take him more than a moment to do so, and then, fully satisfied of the efficacy of his work, he said—“Let ’em get over that if they can.” While he was so occupied, Sir Richard Blunt himself had opened the window, and fastened it open securely. “Now, Crotchet,” he said, “look to your pistols.” “All’s right, sir.” The magistrate carefully examined the priming of his own arms, and seeing that all was right, he at once emerged from the attic through the window on to the parapet of the house. He might have crept along the gutter just within the parapet, but the gutter aforesaid was not exactly in the most salubrious condition. Indeed, from its filthy state, one might have fancied it to be peculiarly under the direction of the city commissioners of sewers. Crotchet followed Sir Richard closely, and in a moment or two they had traversed a sufficient portion of the parapet to find themselves at the attic window of Todd’s house. It would have been next thing to a miracle if they had been seen in their progress, for the roof was very dark coloured, and the night had fairly enough set in, so that if any one had by chance looked up from the street below, they would scarcely have discovered that there was anybody creeping along the parapet. CORniclooo S CO)